


Never Meant to Fail

by thealexandriaarchives



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Changing Vanessa's Pseudocanon, Everything inbetween, F/M, Fluff, Kaiju kill people, Lady K-Science, M/M, Multi, Newton Does Dumb Shit That's Not Healthy, Tons of OCs, manic depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealexandriaarchives/pseuds/thealexandriaarchives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt and Hermann met in 2017. Then they met again in 2020, where Newt met Vanessa. Everything kind of fell apart after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Meant to Fail

Newton Geiszler and Hermann Gottlieb are not Drift Compatible.

Mandatory testing of all PPDC high level security clearance personnel began a few months after the Jaeger program found its feet.

Theoretically it was to test for potential new copilots for Jaeger teams down to a single pilot under emergency circumstances. The test itself covered everything from hand-eye coordination and physical brain structure, to known fighting techniques and uncomfortable questions about childhood traumas. It then fed into an algorhythm formulated by a desperate programmer who used to work for online dating websites, and had convinced someone at the top of the food chain that his particular set of skills were in any way still relevant. It supposedly identified your ‘Drift Style’ and could calculate your odds of successful Drifts with anyone else who’d taken the same test. The brass labeled anything under an 85% not even worth trying, but anyone who’d scored over 75% was pretty much silently guaranteed a convenient post on whichever damp patch of coastline the corresponding Jaeger pilot was sent.

For anyone not unfortunate enough to be stuck dogtailing a Jaeger Jock wherever they were called, the compatibility program became a favorite for game nights. You may not have a pack of cards at the end of the world, but you sure as shit had a supercomputer able to pair off any coworker and commanding officer you could think of, and with a bottle of hoarded tequila graciously offered up to the communal sacrifice, that was just as good.

So one night on the ass end of 2017, a truly terrible year by almost anyone’s accounts, Newt’s had as many shots as the party rationing will allow, and is trying to pick up a pretty M.P. by showing her his latest piece of skin art. She seems repulsed, and he assumes it’s more from the Basilisk shaped Kaiju than his still completely acceptable stomach (though really that’s not his fault, the military contingent seems think the lab geeks have no need for gym privileges during a time of war and try to bounce him out every time he manages to show), but he’s probably not taking the hint as well as he could when she shouts out, “Hey, Put Newt and his sauerkraut boyfriend up on the screen!”

Catcalls and cheering fill the room, too slurred and happy to be truly vindictive, and a second later the profiles flash up on the screen with the announcement below.

_**Dr. Newton Geisler – Dr. Hermann Gottlieb = Compatibility Rating: 64%** _

“Aww. Guess it’s not love after all, eh Newt?” Someone shouts from up front.

There’s disappointed grumbling and a lull before someone shouts out the names of two of the Jaeger maintenance crew, and the enthusiastic crowd starts up again.

Most of the people in that room are dead, the worst case scenarios that test prepared for have come and gone, and the flashing number on that screen is the only thing going through Newt’s head as Hermann volunteers to join him in the Drift.

“You would do that for me?”

It could cause untold harm to both of them, and it’s Hermann’s first time Drifting. The physical and psychological strain of not only a strangled baby Kaiju but a physically (emotionally) incompatible human copilot could kill them both, though in a slower, more drawn out death than the sudden aneurysm Newt would be likely to have. Hours as codependent cabbages could await.

Newton’s still got the pounding headache and smell of blood from his first drift to remind him what's at stake.

“-with me? You would do that with me?”

He should tell him. Quickly explain the risk, and let him decide for himself. But Hermann’s never made a hasty, rash decision in his life, and this is the best chance they have to get the information to save the gottverdammte world and fuck it, he knows he’s rationalizing, but he wants this, and it may be the last selfish act he'll ever get to do.

“All right! Let’s rock this bad boy!!”

And as Hermann fumbled with his hand in a rare attempt to meet him halfway, Newt grinned and hoped the handshake they were about to jump into wasn’t going to be as painfully awkward as this one.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Boxing up his personal quarters after the final attack is ridiculously easy. Since the initial move to the Jaeger Academy his collection of personal items had shrunk with every move. Here at the last stand he’s down to two e-readers, both stuffed to the brim with bio texts and manga, the idea of separating the two long since forgotten; a copy of his parents' first album together, autographed on their honeymoon tour; back up glasses and emergency contacts; two formerly clean shirts; his prized 1954 original promotional Godzilla action figure; and a shoebox full of notebooks and loose papers. All in all it took less than five minutes to shove everything into a duffel for the plane to Seattle, then God knows where. Going back to MIT is a possibility, though it’s unlikely the military would relinquish control of his specimens.

He drops the duffel by the door and hears a low crunch. Panicked, he checks the vinyl and nuclear dino wrapped in his least stained shirt. They’re both fine. What he’d heard was just his tattered Converse box giving up, smashing the empty Sun Chips bag balled in the corner. Newt pulled out the wrapper and smoothed it down, sprinkling salt and crumbs over the rest of the box’s contents. He’d lived on these things by the case in grad school, clinging to the willful misconception that they were somewhat better for him than the junk food his friends were scarfing. When the factory announced they were not rebuilding after the 2019 attack, he’d traded a week’s worth of coffee rations for the bag. He’d planned to eat it - well, now, after all the shit had hit the fan and they’d managed to shut the fan off. But… he’d had a bad day.

Tucked in the bottom of the box is a pull out photoshoot from 2021, the last issue of People Magazine before they moved shop from California. Five faces smile out at the camera, on a range from 'nearly imperceptible' to 'hyperactive dork'. Newt is smack in the middle, his arms wide around the people beside him, forearm tattoos tastefully blurred by a talented editor.

' **Pentecost's Pentacle** ' the title ran, ' **The Think Tank That's Here to Save the World** '

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the tail end of 2020, Dr. Newton Geiszler walked into the lab facilities of the half completed Los Angeles Shatterdome. Rebuilt after Yamarashi's attack, The Jewel of the American Coastline was twice the size of any 'Dome previously constructed, and supposedly had three times the funding. Looking out at the toy store before him the size of a hangar, Newt believed it.

The labs, or in this case lab, singular, was at the center of the Shatterdome, two levels underground. The cement walls curved with steel reinforcements to arch up to meet the massive pillar that dominated the center of the room. It was a hell of a step up from the hastily welded sheet metal walls of the lab he'd been overseeing at the Seattle PPDC labs.

As he gawped like a country bumpkin getting his first taste of the big city, a voice cut through behind him.

"Tell me you're a meathead."

Jumping and twisting, Newt tried to get a look at who'd spoken. "Sorry, what?"

A woman his height in green jeans and a lab coat too long for her petite frame was looking him up and down quizzically, fingers playing with the ends of a long black braid.

"Biology, Neurology, Endocrinology? Not that I have anything against the others, they're great, but you're the last to arrive and at this point I'll take Chemistry or a Social Science over more numbers and graphs."

Grin splitting his face, Newt shifted his duffle further over his shoulder and offered his hand. "Newt Geiszler, Meathead."

Bright brown eyes widened to match his overblown expression.

"Amrapali Jalla, Neurology." She does not take his hand, eyeing it hesitantly. He drops it casually, adjusting his bag again.

She looks grateful. "Can I help you with that?"

"Yeah, thanks. It's mostly clothes, I was going to stop by my quarters first, but..."

A nod of understanding meets him. "I haven't had facilities like this in years. There was nothing like it in Chennai."

She's walking towards the empty section of the labs, and he follows. "Is that where you were stationed last?"

"I ran a team of twelve, trying to map brain function in the Kaiju primary cerbrum and secondary hindbrain. It was fascinating really. We figured out that a lot more than just regulatory functions took place in the hindbrain, including external memory storage."

Forcibly stopping himself from asking more, Newt focused on what seemed most important. "Why'd they transfer you?"

"The program was shut down, lack of specimens, lack of public and military interest, lack of leadership skills..."

"By which I'm guessing you mean lack of ass-kissing ability."

"Fucking A," She grinned, depositing his bag on the shiny, new, unstained autopsy table. "You were overseeing the Seattle Kaiju Anatomy Mapping Project, weren't you?"

He was hopping around his section, pulling open drawers and nearly shouting for glee. "Seventeen of us, all shoved in a tin can the PPDC had the nerve to call a lab. Most of them were happy when they called it a bust and reassigned me out here."

Examining forceps that didn't have to be begged off a medical clinic, he looked up. "I can be a bit... exuberant at times." He snapped them in her face for good measure.

"I can believe it. You wrote the book on the silicon based life forms thirteen months before the Breach even opened. Is is true you have six doctorates?"

"That's ridiculous," he dropped the forceps and swung up on the table with her. "I've just got three. The Mania's got to come in useful somewhere."

He eyed what was clearly her workstation next to his, tattered photo of her surrounded by family, a retro space invaders sticker on a  
specimen refrigerator he'd politely wait another thirty seconds before opening without permission, and a hand knitted blanket tossed across a regulation chair that somehow made it look halfway enticing.

"That paper was really theoretical fringe, how'd you know about it? The PPDC didn't even dig it up when I knocked down the door to the academy."

"I've got a secondary degree in Astrobiology. It caused quite a scandal in our little circles."

She motioned towards the fridge with a 'be my guest gesture'.

Newt gazed at her adoringly. "Oh, Amra. We're gonna be awesome together. High Five!"

She tentatively put her hand up and accepted the love.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It took Newt a few days to come out from the specimen fridge again and meet the rest of the new team. After twenty hours Amra stopped bringing him coffee and forced him to leave the lab to find more, telling him to take his duffel with him and find his new quarters and the showers. Once he complied, she happily went back to explaining the finer details of her findings on the cross sections of Kaiju hindbrain under the electron microscope they now had access to.

On his third independent trip to the coffee pot, he noticed his neighbor to his other side, buried in computer simulations of the Breach. Hunched over his station with noise cancelling headphones over his ears, he didn't notice Newt's attempts at communication. Tapping him lightly on the shoulder certainly resonated though, as he jumped a foot in the air and immediately shrunk down into his chair before looking around.

As he swiveled slowly around, pulling off his headphones, Newt put his hands up in the universal, 'I come in peace' symbol. This turned out to be useful, as the man's English wasn't great, and Newt's Spanish non-existant. But the usual new coworker chit chat was accomplished through basic signing and nodding, from 'Nice Apocalypse We're Having Here, Isn't It', to the ultimate friend maker, 'Want Some More Coffee?'

Returning to his desk he saw Amra had left for the night, sticking a note on top of his incoming paperwork.

_His name is Dr. Javier Celio, specialties in Oceanography and Seismology. He's from El Salvador, and he almost never speaks, even in Spanish. Try not to spook him too much._

Shit. Well now he feels like a Class A Dick. El Salvador has been a crater since Banewreaker's attack three summers ago.

The next time that he moves to get coffee Javier's still burning the midnight oil with him, and he makes sure he approaches from his peripheral vision with the pot raised.

He doesn't remove his headphones this time, but still smiles gratefully before turning back to his work.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The last two members of the team come in around 6:00 am, just around the time Newt's body is starting to demand that two all-nighters in a row are perfectly enough to get a jump start on the new job, and it's time to see if this barrack bunk is any better than the last ten he's slept in.

Dumping his cold coffee in the lab sink and heading for the door he hears voices approaching the door; a woman's laugh, and a low tone he hasn't heard in years.

The door swings open to confirm his suspicion.

"Hermann."

Surprise, but nowhere near Newt's sheer level of shock.

"Dr. Geiszler."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

2017 was a great year.

Well, not if you go by death tolls, or poverty rates, or starvation estimates, or worldwide current events...

Okay, 2017 was a great year for Newt.

He'd graduated the Jaeger Academy the year before, and the PPDC had finally recognized his totally obvious potential for leadership and advances, and granted him command of his own team, examining the properties of Kaiju skin as layered armor and developing weapons to pierce it for Jaegers, and bulletproof armor for crowd control and the stupid wars taking place in deserts miles from water.

He'd get his own lab, with at least three doctoral students under him to help, or at worst boss around to keep out of his way.

The facilities were being set up in Portland, and he had six weeks to wrap up his work on dissection and recording of the first Category III spleen recovered intact.

Which meant in reality, he had five weeks of downtime to sit on his ass, catch up on the journals, and try to stay out of trouble.

Three days in he had read everything in his backlog, and was starting to surf aimlessly when a knock came at the door.

"Mr. Geiszler."

Marshal Pentecost was at the door, escorted by a stern looking man about Newt's age in clothes clearly older than he was.

"This is Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, our chief programmer for the Jaeger program. He'll be taking over this lab while patching the Operating Systems for the Mark II's in production. He was able to arrive somewhat sooner than anticipated, and given your current workload I was sure it was no problem to move him in right away."

"Not at all." Newt bounced from his chair to offer his hand. "Always happy to encourage the PPDC when it tries to rise to levels of moderate efficiency. Newt Geiszler, call me Newt."

Dr. Gottlieb shook with cool professionalism, while eyeing him skeptically. "Not the Dr. Newton Geiszler who co-authored the first skeletal analysis of the Kaiju as compared to amphibious predecessors to late Triassic dinosaurs?"

"Nope, not at all." Newt grinned cheekily. "I made grad students do all the work. How'd it turn out?"

"Dr. Gottlieb will require a desk, I'll have a second one sent down this evening," Pentecost interrupted. "Perhaps you could finish showing him around, with a more specialized view of importance."

"Sure. Not a problem. Come on Hermann, let me show you the best mess this side of the Pacific, unfortunately."

"I prefer Dr. Gottlieb, if you don't mind."

"I do, actually. Lighten up, we're only sharing for a few weeks."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hermann, of course, recovers first, and turns to the elegant woman beside him.

"Dr. Newton Geiszler, it is my pleasure to introduce Dr. Vanessa Paige, South African materials scientist and systems theorist specializing in advanced cybernetics. She's working on improving the neural relays between Jaeger and Ranger with Dr. Jalla. Vanessa, Newton is-"

Vanessa waved him off gracefully. It was the fastest Newt had ever seen anyone shut Hermann up that didn't have stars on their shoulders.

"Of course I know who he is, Hermann. Dr. Geiszler is a legend, much like yourself."

Masterful. Dr. Paige had bright green eyes and shoulder length blonde hair, coiffed to perfection at this ungodly hour. Her lab coat fell over a perfectly pressed pencil skirt and silk blouse. Newt suspected most of what this woman did was perfectly planned and executed.

"Call me Newt."

"And please, call me Vanessa. Excellent to meet the final member of our team. Were you headed to breakfast?"

"Bed, actually. I've been here a few hours."

"No doubt drooling over the specimen fridge with Dr. Jalla," Hermann scoffed, rejoining the conversation. "Dr. Geiszler is-"

"Don't let us keep you from your bed, then," Vanessa smiles. "Dr. Gottlieb and I have to get a jump on the day's work, we'll see you later."

Pushing Newt gently towards the door, she turns and takes Hermann by the arm, dragging him in the opposite direction.

It takes exactly three seconds for Newt realize he's too tired to process this, and trudge his way to his room to pass out.

**Author's Note:**

> The whole plot arc is solidified, but comments make me write faster. Roughly beta'd by the lovely Seagullsong as always, and published only to motivate my ass.


End file.
